


Under Surveillance

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: km_anthology, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim thinks he knows exactly how Bones blows off steam but an extended stay in sickbay (and a bit of spying) prove his assumptions wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Surveillance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the km_anthology community on LiveJournal, prompt: voyeurism. Thanks muchly to starsandgraces for her fine beta services.

It was supposed to be just another routine—

"Oh, don't give me that steaming pile of _bullshit_ ," Bones barks. "Routine mission, my _ass_. Things are never routine with you hooligans running back and forth to the far reaches of space!"

It's miraculous that Jim can hear him. The sound of the explosion down on Alpha Kopla is still ringing in his ears, albeit slightly muffled by the throbbing of his limbs, most of which are bruised and broken in a myriad of ways. But despite all of that, Jim can hear his best friend raging on, totally in his element as nurses scurry back and forth, medical instruments clang against each other, and life monitors beep wildly, as though wailing in distress.

Good ol' Bones. A beacon of light in the darkness. Or something.

"I'm telling you, McCoy," Jim hears, a new voice. Sulu. "Spock and Uhura had all the intel! There wasn't supposed to be any sort of political unrest down there, let alone the threat of an _uprising_."

"Well, then, I guess it's just my lucky day," Bones sneers.

Man, Bones is the greatest. Jim loves Bones. He opens his mouth slightly to tell him so and gets a mask over his mouth for his efforts and the blunt thrust of a hypospray against his neck.

Okay, never mind. Bones is _mean_.

"Don't you start," he says warningly. Jim blinks up at him hazily and he can swear he sees those hardened features relax, just a little. That is, if his eyes aren't playing pre-demise tricks on him. "Fix you right up, Jim, good as new, promise," Bones adds, just as Jim sinks into unconsciousness.

His last thought is a confident one: He'll be just fine. Bones has him.

*

His next thought is: _Holy shit, I'm having a thought! I must be alive!_

The one after that is: _Being alive hurts like a_ bitch _; what the fuck?_

Jim opens his eyes and sees Bones peering down at him, harried and annoyed, but with a look of relief. His face, as it always does, tells a story—most likely the tale of how Jim nearly died at least twice and how Bones busted his ass as always, fighting to keep the ship's captain alive, fretful the entire time that _this_ would be the time when nothing worked. Jim can picture it: loud, angry yelling; timid Nurse Treja crying in the medical supply room after a thorough chastising; Chapel being a badass as usual and going above and beyond her role to get shit done.

But even Bones' eyes are tinged with red right now, which tells Jim that Bones was right; this was anything but routine.

"Done rooting around in my internal cavities?" Jim asks to lighten the mood. His voice comes out raspy and thick, and Bones immediately produces a cup of water, bringing the end of the straw to Jim's dry lips.

"As if I enjoy being elbow-deep in your guts," Bones quips, a sour twist to his mouth. That air of relief still remains, though, radiating off his body as Jim sips the water slowly. "How many times have I asked you to give your tired CMO a break and stop running _toward_ explosions, Jim?"

"But it looks so much cooler than running away from them," Jim says hoarsely. He tries to smile and Bones rolls his eyes.

"Don't talk," he instructs, moving the straw between Jim's lips again. Jim drinks, which turns out to be Bones' cue to start ranting at him. "You're supposed to be the captain, Jim. Do you know what that means? Well, I'll tell you, because I don't think you do. It means protecting your ship and your crew, sure, but it also means doing your best to make sure you keep your own damn stubborn hide safe, so we can all benefit from having a leader who's actually around to _lead_ us. A lot of goddamn good you can do, holed up in my sickbay with half a working skeleton."

"Half a...?" Jim says around the straw, trying to draw away. Bones shoves it back into his mouth.

"You broke some bones. Lots of internal bleeding, too. Took us nearly twenty hours just to stabilize you."

"Bones," Jim mumbles. He stares at Bones until he relents and takes the straw away. "I'm sorry things were so...harrowing. But I'm not sorry for what I did. It all happened so fast, and if Uhura hadn't been there with us, we would have been sitting ducks. They're my people; I had to get them out of there."

"Yeah, well." Bones puts the cup aside and picks up his PADD, looking away from Jim as he consults his notes. "They all made it out with minor injuries while you were laying there, half-dead on the ground."

Jim blinks in surprise. "All of them? I could have sworn I saw a huge rock about to fall right on Ensign Anderson's—"

"Anderson is _fine_ ," Bones interrupts. "Better off than you, anyway. Just try to have a little faith in your crew, Jim. And a little pity on me and my med crew, while you're at it. You're the captain, not some indestructible space cowboy."

Jim's cheeks burn a little at Bones' words—or maybe that's just more internal bleeding, who can tell?—but all he can do is pout, considering that his body feels mostly numb from whatever anesthetics or drugs Bones is pumping through his system. Okay, so maybe Jim gets a little reckless sometimes. But it's what makes him a good captain: that willingness to do whatever it takes to get a job done, to overcome fear and make a difficult split decision when the moment calls for it. Bones would likely rather Jim sit in his chair on the bridge every day, twiddling his thumbs and letting everyone else do the dirty work for him. But that's not Jim's style.

Of course, he's not in much of a position to articulate all of that right now. His head is pounding, he feels a little floaty, and the harsh lights of sickbay are starting to bother him.

"You're lucky m'not on duty right now," he says, shutting his eyes briefly. "Put you in the brig for being a mean jerk."

"And you're lucky to be alive, so we're even."

Bones lays a cool hand over his forehead—that is, it feels cool on the skin that isn't covered in bandages. Jim's eyelashes flutter in response. He wonders just how battered his face looks right now and feels slightly embarrassed that Bones always sees him at his worst. Somehow, it hasn't yet chased him away.

"You'll be all right," Bones says softly. "But you'll be in here for a while. Spock's got everything under control while you're off-duty."

"Starfleet—"

"Starfleet's been alerted. Pike knows, everyone knows. So don't worry your pretty, cracked-open head. And rest, okay? I'll be in my office. Need to blow off some steam myself, after patching you up for two days straight."

Right, blowing off steam. Jim quirks a smile, thinking of just how many glasses of bourbon Bones is planning on downing before the day is out. "Have fun," he murmurs teasingly.

Bones shakes his head as he administers another hypo. "Brat."

*

Sickbay is painfully boring. Jim spends most of his time sleeping, thanks to Bones and his hypo-happy band of medical marauders. Bones won't let him do any actual captain stuff when he's awake, so Jim watches them all busy at work, more than competent at their individual jobs and on call for any emergency. He quietly applauds himself for having the foresight to let Bones choose his own team. _As long as you keep Chapel_ , Jim said to him, and Bones rolled his eyes, a silent admonishment of _Well, duh_.

All that sleep, while a big distraction from the outside world, doesn't keep Jim from realizing just how much time Bones spends in his office. It's like, a _lot_ of time. And Jim knows that for sure because he's got his own little private room right next to Bones' office, thanks to Bones' orders, since Jim's "not out of the woods yet," even though Jim is pretty sure he is. Bones does his job dutifully each day, spends a bit of time with Jim, usually filling him in on ship gossip, and then excuses himself to his office, where he renders the windows opaque and soundproofs the room. And stays in there.

It's probably a bad thing if Bones is spending all that time in his office drinking away his stress. Sure, there are ways to avoid excessive drunkenness and hangovers—and Jim knows from experience that Bones has an arsenal of hypos for such occasions—but as the captain, Jim has a duty to make sure that his CMO stays alert and on call for times of emergency. Not to mention that Bones is his best friend and Jim worries about him.

The next time Bones emerges from a long stay in his office, he comes by to check on Jim and Jim leans up a little, sniffing.

"Jim," Bones says flatly. " _What_ are you doing?"

"What? Nothing." He tries to look innocent, even though they both know that Bones knows better.

"You're smelling me."

"Maybe I want something to smell besides latex gloves and sterilization fluid. Is that a crime?"

Bones shakes his head, exasperated as he jots down some readings from Jim's monitors. "It's not anything, just...don't _smell_ me, okay?" he says. Jim pretends to consider it and nods slowly. He can't detect any booze on Bones' breath anyway, so he's either masked it somehow or wasn't drinking to begin with.

He decides to change the subject as a diversionary tactic. Mainly.

"Bones, can I have a PADD?"

Bones shoots him an annoyed glance. "I said no work, Jim. I don't need you getting all riled over a poorly worded transmission from Starfleet and jacking up your blood pressure. Let Spock handle everything for a while."

"What if I just read? Or do crosswords? Or watch porn?"

The splutter that bursts forth from Bones' lips leaves Jim with a noticeable spray of spittle on his cheek. He wipes it off, as subtly as he can manage.

" _Porn_? You want to watch porn in my sickbay."

"Just something recreational!" Jim insists. "I know I'm sleeping eighteen hours a day while I'm here, but those other six hours are driving me crazy. I need something to _do_ , Bones."

At first, it looks to Jim as though the little protruding vein in Bones' forehead is going to burst and leave a rather messy situation behind for the rest of the medical staff. But then Bones looks away, his mouth twitching once, and he makes another note in his PADD.

"Fine. I'll have one of the twitchy little ensigns bring you a PADD with some games and things on it." He starts to walk away when Jim pipes up again.

"Things like porn?" He's pretty sure he spots another twitch on Bones' end.

" _Maybe_."

About thirty minutes later, Chekov comes walking into Jim's private room after receiving permission, shoulders hunched and cheeks pink.

"Here, Captain," he says stiffly as he hands off a PADD to Jim. "Everything you requested is here. Get well soon."

Jim turns the PADD on and grins when he finds it loaded with various games and video files. "Hey, thanks, Chekov," he says, but when he looks up again, Chekov is already gone. Just as well—he has games to occupy him now and, hey, porn, thanks to Bones actually listening to him. Lots of it, it looks like. Who knew that Chekov had such an extensive and developed palate for flesh vids?

He's busy flicking through his selections when Bones walks in, tricorder in hand.

"Hey, Bones," Jim greets his friend. "Did you know that Andorians really like it when you take their antennae and—"

Bones turns on his heel and walks out of the room before Jim can finish.

*

Jim opens his eyes halfway and finds the lights of his room dimmed. His new PADD sits dormant on the table by his bed, and he has the vague sense memory of someone coming in and gently removing it from his hands. He thinks of Bones, a total softy behind that brusque bedside manner, and smiles to himself.

"Computer," he murmurs. "Locate Doctor McCoy."

 _Doctor McCoy is located in the Commanding Medical Officer's main office, interior medical bay_ , the ship's computer replies. Of course. Jim hoped Bones would be indulging in some well-deserved sleep in his quarters, but instead, he's holed up in his office as always, either working or drinking himself into an early grave. Jim considers paging him for a chat but then his eyes drift shut and he feels himself slipping back into sleep, his body still trying to heal with all the rest it can get.

He's jolted back awake by a sudden vibration. It feels like something or someone has fallen to the floor, but it can't be something inside his own room, because there's no sound to accompany it. Jim surmises quickly that the movement came from Bones' office next door, and the room's soundproofing kept him from hearing the actual crash. He rubs at his eyes and knits his eyebrows together, thinking of all of the possible scenarios at hand here. It could be that something simply fell from Bones' desk—rolled right off the edge after an accidental nudge and landed on the floor with a heavy thud. Of course, it could also be that Bones is drunk off his ass and stumbling around his office with little consideration for his surroundings, knocking shit to the ground.

Jim blinks and shakes his head at the thought. Bones has only gotten that drunk in his office that one time, when he...well, actually, there was that other time, too. And maybe a few other times that Jim doesn't know about. He did overhear Chapel gossiping with Rand in the mess hall about Bones that one day, and he's pretty sure she was saying...

Fuck. He blinks hard to wake himself fully and hails the computer again, already gearing himself up to disobey Bones' orders and get his ass into that office, if he has to.

"Disengage soundproofing on Commanding Medical Officer's office, override code Kirk-alpha-seven-zero-three."

 _Override code accepted_ , the computer replies.

After that, Jim's not exactly prepared for what he hears.

"So goddamn dirty, aren't you...? Yeah, you like that? Tell me how much. You love it, don't you?"

Jim nearly squeaks and grabs onto the bed's twin railings. Suddenly, he's _really_ glad they're there to keep him from falling right out of the bed in surprise.

That's _Bones_ talking. It's a little muffled by the wall, but it's obvious that it's Bones, saying filthy, filthy things in this low, gravelly tone that Jim didn't even know he was capable of and—fucking someone in his office? Sure, Jim has indulged in some...physical activity in his own office before, but Bones has never seemed the type. Jim sits up in his bed and listens, perversely curious as to who exactly Bones is talking to—who's taking it hard from the broad, honey-voiced (who knew?) CMO.

And if his dick begins to take its own interest in the unfolding events, so be it. He's not made of stone.

"Fuck," Bones moans breathily. Jim squirms under his covers, wishing there were some way he could render the wall transparent, just to get a glimpse of what's going on. He shuts his eyes and pictures Bones nailing some cute young crew member, her—or his, Bones has varied tastes—legs twined around Bones' waist. Or maybe Bones has the other person bent over the desk, pinned down and begging for it.

Jim wishes he could hear the other person. Bones is talking to someone, whoever it is, but that person isn't saying a word in return. Maybe it's all too overwhelming? Maybe Bones is fucking the poor thing so hard that it's impossible to speak. Jim swallows heavily and strains to listen more closely—for a gasp, a whimper, a mention of Bones' name in return, _anything_.

And that's when it happens.

"So damn close...and you're just lying there, aren't you, right on the other side of that wall. Watching porn vids all day like a dirty little boy. Right in the middle of my sickbay... You're filthy, aren't you, Jim? Had to ask for it, just can't help yourself..."

"Oh, my god," Jim whispers under his breath. Bones has Jim's full attention now, his dick suddenly as hard as a titanium rod.

Bones is _alone_. Jerking himself off. And thinking of _Jim_.

Jim has no idea what to do, none at all. He's not sure if his room is soundproofed separately from Bones' or not, so he doesn't dare make a sound as he listens to Bones work himself toward completion. He doesn't touch himself either, for fear that he might make noise—he tends to be vocal as well—or that Bones or Chapel or someone else might come in and catch him in the act when he's supposed to be resting. Jim just shuts his eyes and holds onto the bed railings tightly as Bones stutters and moans in the throes of what sounds like an intense orgasm. He doesn't realize he's biting down on his tongue until it's all over and quiet again.

When Bones peers into his room to check on him a little while later, Jim feigns sleep, his blankets artfully arranged over his crotch to mask the fact that there's something stirring down there.

Jim doesn't bother to reinstate the soundproofing until the next day, when Bones is at a medical staff meeting.

*

"All things considered, you're doing pretty well," Bones says, nodding to himself. He takes some notes on the readings displayed on his tricorder, then looks back at Jim. "Internal injuries are on the mend, osteo-regeneration's working nicely. Just a few more days holed up in here at most, I'm thinking."

Jim smiles at him broadly. "You're a miracle worker, Bones. A gifted physician. Best I've ever seen. Don't know where I'd be without you."

"You'd be dead somewhere, buried under rubble with a rock-shaped dent in you, that's where."

"Oh, right." Jim reaches for his PADD and brings up the crossword he's been working on for the past half-hour. "Hey, I heard a noise coming from your office last night. Was everything okay?"

Bones lifts his head quickly, looking a tad alarmed. "You heard something? That room's soundproofed."

"Well, I mean, I felt something. A vibration in the floor. Like something heavy had fallen or dropped."

"Oh, that." Bones looks down at his PADD and saves his work. "I bumped into the desk by accident, knocked something over. Sorry if it disturbed you."

"No problem," Jim says breezily. "By the way, I don't think I ever thanked you for arranging for Chekov to bring me this PADD." He makes a point of catching Bones' eye and gives him a meaningful look. "It's really helped keep me busy. Passes the time, you know?"

"Glad to hear it," Bones replies sourly. Jim thinks he can detect twin spots of color on his cheeks. "So long as you don't get yourself too worked up. We don't need any setbacks at this point."

"I'm doing much better; you said so yourself." Not to mention that he's been feeling rather chipper, knowing that Bones has been spending time in his office, getting his rocks off while thinking of Jim. Sure, he was a little freaked out at first—this is a whole new dimension of their relationship, after all—but it's flattering, really. And sexy. And a far better way of dealing with stress than nonstop drinking.

And did he mention that it's sexy? Because it is. It really fucking is.

Bones grunts in reply. "You always take everything I say as an invitation to be a reckless idiot. Always twisting my words."

Jim blinks, thinking of a few choice words he heard Bones utter just last night. There was no twisting those.

"I'm just being optimistic," he says. Then he looks at Bones and decides to utter the question he's been pondering all afternoon. "Hey, is it okay if I masturbate in here?"

Bones blanches and drops his tricorder to the floor with a clang. His reaction is both comical and kind of hot, now that Jim knows what he knows—that Bones has a big ol' thing for his best friend, the captain. The thing is, if Bones is going to keep getting off in his office—or even if he doesn't, as the damage is already done—Jim needs some way of blowing off steam in return, lest he wind up stuck in sickbay for another week with a bad case of blue balls. And he doesn't want to get in trouble for it. Plus, the mere fact that he's asking is likely enough wank fodder to keep Bones busy for the next month. Thank goodness for Bones' lofty imagination.

"You..." Bones starts. Then he pauses and bends to retrieve his tricorder. Jim sneaks a peek at his ass. It's a very nice ass, now that he considers it. Round, muscular, firm. Bones makes an obvious effort to not grit his teeth as he stands upright. "I suppose so. If you _have_ to."

"It's a basic human need," Jim reasons, trying to look as guileless as possible. "I mean, when I'm in good health, I usually do it two or three times a day, and here, I haven't done it in a week. Plus, with all the vids that Chekov gave me..."

"Three times a day, huh?" Bones says, scowling. And hey, there's that vein in his forehead again.

 _Hello, old friend_ , Jim thinks.

"Depends on how busy I am."

"Well, isn't that peachy. You learn something new every day." Bones takes a deep breath and tucks his tricorder under his arm. "Fine," he says. "But put some kind of code on your door so you don't end up scarring one of my poor nurses for life."

"Or you," Jim adds.

Bones looks away quickly and makes for the door. "Yeah. That, too."

*

By the time Bones finishes his shift and checks in on Jim once more, he looks frazzled and exhausted. Jim looks up from his PADD and gives him a sympathetic smile.

"Long day, huh?"

"You don't know the half of it."

Jim shrugs and motions for Bones to come and sit by the bed. "You could tell me about it. I'm less tired lately; I promise to stay awake while you talk."

Bones shakes his head. "No, that's fine. You need your rest." Jim barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. He's been resting for eons at this point.

"Looks like you could use some rest, too. Heading back to your quarters?"

"I've got some stuff to do in my office. Might catch a nap there. We'll see." He begins to close the door, nodding to Jim. "Page M'Benga if you need him. Okay?"

"Sure thing, Bones. Night."

As soon as the door shuts and the overhead lights dim, Jim closes the crossword puzzle program he was pretending to be engrossed in, and resumes the work that he started earlier that day—a complex (to the untrained eye, anyway) set of algorithms, aimed at hacking into the ship's surveillance system. It didn't take very long for Jim to do—he wouldn't be much of a captain if he didn't know how to hack into the systems of his own ship—but it was still fairly arduous. Plus, he hasn't flexed his hacker muscles since his time at the academy. Ah, memories.

Jim licks his lips in anticipation of what he's about to do. After much serious thought, he's come to the decision that a few doses of auditory voyeurism just aren't going to cut it for him. Jim's a visual sort of guy; he wants a vivid, detailed image of just what's going on in the adjacent office. He wants to know if Bones stands or sits when he does it, just how he positions his body. He wants to know if Bones teases himself with brief rubs and long, slow pulls of his hand, or if he truly indulges himself, tugging at his length hard and fast. If he uses one hand or two. What his face looks like when he comes.

There are many, many possibilities and Jim's pretty sure that he's thought of them all. But unlike Bones, he's not satisfied with merely his own imagination.

A few more taps on the screen of his PADD and Jim has a front-row seat to the Happy Fun Time Show, starring Leonard "Bones" McCoy. Just in time, too—Bones is already in his chair, working the trousers of his uniform open. Definitely not napping. Jim zooms in so he can get a better look at Bones' cock when it emerges from its confines. It's thick and flushed, not too long, already semi-hard, and Bones wastes no time in wrapping his fingers around it and going to town. Jim watches intently, holding the PADD close to his face, nearly panting at the sight of that hardening length, the way it glistens at the tip the more Bones strokes himself. Right now he's going slowly, but it's definitely methodical. Jim can see the tension easing out of the man's shoulders as he slumps further in his seat and props one foot on the edge of his desk. Bones uses one hand to jerk off, and when he lifts the other hand to tug his shirt up and pinch an exposed nipple, Jim thanks every deity he can think of, Terran and otherwise, that he saw fit to get permission to follow Bones' lead. There's no way in _hell_ he can deny this urge right now. Jim clutches the PADD shakily with one hand and pushes the other down under the bed sheets, rubbing the heel of his palm against the bulge in his medical gown. It's the first time he's dared to touch himself since his initial discovery of Bones' dirty little secret and it feels so good that he tilts his head back against his pillow with a groan of relief.

When Jim looks back at the screen, his own cock firmly in hand, he can see that Bones' lips are moving. Shit, he's talking and Jim can't hear it. Jim frantically works with one hand to find the volume controls on the damn surveillance stream, and when he finally gets it right, he catches Bones right in the midst of things.

"—fucking hot, looking better every day, and now you're jacking off in there, too? So goddamn _filthy_ , Jim, absolutely shameless... Fucking want to hold you down; stuff you full of my cock..."

At those words, Jim reflexively squeezes on his cock, his eyes rolling back. "N- _nuhh_ ," he utters, not exactly coherent as he jerks and comes all over himself, without warning. He would feel ashamed—this is definitely not indicative of his usual stamina—but it's been a long time. Plus, the stuff that Bones says... _fuck_. Jim thinks about Bones murmuring those same words into his ear, his ass stuffed full of Bones' cock or fingers or _whatever_ , just as described, and he shudders all over again, giving his sensitive dick one last stroke.

He gathers his wits long enough to get back to the show, biting his lip as he listens to the rest of Bones' sexy tirade and watches Bones bring himself off, stripes of white painting his taut stomach. His face, just as Jim expected, is fucking devastating.

It's only after Jim has killed the surveillance feed, Bones' rapturous expression tattooed on the backs of his eyelids as he tries futilely to fall asleep, that he thinks the entire thing might have been a bad idea.

*

It becomes a habit; one that Jim knows is going to be difficult to break, if and when the time comes. Every night, Jim watches Bones take care of business in his office, murmuring sweet nothings to the air about cocks and assholes and dirty slut captains, and Jim succumbs to an explosive orgasm of his own, caught between watching Bones and imagining every sinful scenario he outlines. Bones gets more elaborate as time goes on, too, motivating himself with explicit, detailed narratives that tend to end with a gasping and begging imaginary Jim taking it hard and fast from a smooth-talking and forceful imaginary Bones.

When Bones finally gives Jim a clean bill of health and discharges him from sickbay, it's actually kind of a downer. Jim finds that he's reluctant to leave the little self-love nest that he's made for himself here, not to mention the constant, close proximity to Bones. And he tries to bargain his way out of it, just a bit.

"I dunno, Bones," he sighs mournfully, rubbing his bicep. "I think I might need a few more days. You can never be too sure about these things."

Bones peers up at him from beneath his bewildered, slanted eyebrows. "You're kidding, right? You actually want to _stay_ in sickbay, now that you're allowed to go? This, coming from the man who offered 'a night to remember' to the first person on my staff who let him sneak out early?"

Jim bites his lip and tries to look as pitiful as possible. "But, um. My bones hurt."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Jim. You're the picture of health, aside from a few missing parts in your fool head." Bones huffs and shakes his head. "Now go back to doing whatever captainly things it is that you do and get out of my hair already."

"Oh, _fine_ ," Jim blurts, annoyed. He straightens the hem of his off-duty black shirt and grabs his PADD from the bedside table, clutching it to his chest. No way is he leaving _that_ little bit of self-incriminating evidence lying around. "But I'm taking this PADD with me!"

"Got attached to those Andorian porn vids, didn't you?"

Jim turns his nose up. "I find them extremely compelling."

He swears he can feel the smirking bastard's eyes on him as he damn well flounces out of sickbay.

*

His first day back on duty should, by all rights, be fantastic. Everyone is happy to see him, even Uhura. And Spock looks fairly relieved to give up the reins; he'll probably be spending a lot of time meditating in his quarters after this. It feels good to sit in his chair again and look out at his brilliant bridge crew and the vast expanses of space sprawling before his eyes, shimmering and beguiling.

Now, if only he could stop thinking about Bones, everything would be gravy.

It's not that he's got Bones on the brain or anything. Or, well, maybe he does. But it's not a big deal. All he has to do is wait for alpha shift to end, then jet back to his quarters so he can catch Bones in his office, performing his ritual of "blowing off steam." No sweat. Jim has survived days upon days in solitary confinement in prison cells on backwater planets, so he can definitely live through a few hours of work before he indulges in his new, shiny recreational activity.

It's just that waiting is hard. Really, really hard. And that every time he thinks about watching Bones get hard on that secret surveillance feed, Jim also gets hard. Really, really hard.

 _Fuck_. It's official: his brain and his dick both hate him.

When the shift does finally, _finally_ come to an end, Jim rushes off the bridge so fast that he probably leaves behind skid marks, not to mention a bunch of confused crew members. His stomach rumbles, reminding him that he should probably eat, but Bones never heads to the mess hall immediately after a shift—he just locks himself in his office and opens his pants. Jim ignores the hunger pangs and makes a beeline for his quarters, issuing a high-security lock code. He all but jumps into bed and tears off his uniform, getting naked as quickly as possible. Then he grabs his special PADD, doing the necessary work to hack into the surveillance system once again. Jim's been fighting an erection all day and his cock stirs with excitement at the very thought of what he'll see once the feed kicks in.

When Jim gets his first glimpse of Bones, he can feel his heart thump in his chest. But then he takes a moment to assess what he's seeing.

Bones is just sitting at his desk, typing at his work station and peering at his monitor. Doing work. And his trousers are entirely zipped.

"God _damn_ it," Jim groans. He gets the urge to shake the PADD with both of his hands, as if Bones porn might fall out of it. But he resists temptation and instead props his head up in his palm, looking on as patiently as he can and waiting for sexy magic to commence.

The problem being, ultimately, that the sexy magic does not commence. Jim waits and watches and waits and Bones just keeps working on whatever it is he's doing, staring intently at that monitor, looking at something that Jim can't see. Jim whines his frustration into the flesh of his arm and rolls onto his stomach, banging his fist against the mattress. This is bad. It's _really_ bad. Because somewhere along the way, Bones' masturbatory habits turned Jim into a selfish, needy voyeur, and now he's damn well addicted to watching Bones get off. He needs his live-action fix. Plus, he's got that day-long semi-hard to deal with, which does not seem to be going away, despite the circumstances.

Jim looks back at the video feed one more time before pushing it away entirely. Bones doesn't seem ready to get his one-man party on any time soon and Jim has to do _something_ , here. He stays on his stomach and begins to lightly rock his hips against the mattress, getting some much needed friction from the bunched sheets. It's a start. Jim shuts his eyes, then, and tries to conjure up the image of Bones reclining lazily in his office chair, one foot propped on the edge of the desk, just like always. He hasn't used his imagination to get off since before the incident on Alpha Kopla, but hell, it's like riding a hoverbike. He envisions Bones in his mind's eye, head tilted back in pleasure as he lets go of the day's troubles and touches himself in all of his secret spots, slowly driving himself crazy.

Jim knows all of those secret spots now, too. He swallows thickly as the thought occurs to him, humps the mattress harder when he considers rediscovering those spots with his lips and tongue.

He hazards a glance at the abandoned PADD again. Bones still isn't doing anything besides looking at that monitor, very closely now. His lips are slightly parted, the glow of the screen illuminating the sharp angles of his face, and Jim imagines running his fingers over those gorgeous planes, slipping them gently into Bones' mouth and watching his cheeks tighten as he sucks...

"Oh, god," Jim moans. He turns onto his back, ignoring the PADD again and fumbling in his bedside drawer for the bottle of Starfleet medical grade lubricant that he stole from sickbay. Jim squirts a healthy amount into his palm and rubs his hands together, then reaches down to curl his fist around his cock, pumping himself leisurely. Fuck the feed, he thinks—he doesn't need it now that he knows exactly what Bones looks like when he surrenders to an orgasm, and the kind of smut that comes pouring out of his mouth with absolutely no provocation. Jim squirms on the sheets and thinks back to a particularly scandalous rant from a couple of nights ago. He remembers Bones' utterance of each word as it tumbled, thick and syrupy, off his tongue.

 _Can't wait 'til you're all better, Jim... Might like to splay you out on my bed and lick you open, 'til you're writhing and begging for me to fuck you. Or maybe I'll work you open with my fingers—would you like that? How many could you take? Bet you could take 'em all, you dirty thing...take 'em all and then climb into my lap, bouncing up and down on my cock._

Jim makes a strangled noise at the memory, his dick hardening swiftly in his grip. He shifts halfway onto his side and reaches down to tease his asshole with his free hand, wanting nothing more than to be opened up, just as Bones described, even if Bones isn't the one doing it.

Soon enough, Jim's three fingers deep in his own ass, his cock twitching and dribbling over the slippery skin of his other hand. He gasps and sobs brokenly into his pillow as he imagines Bones spooned up behind him, teasing his slit with small, maddening touches and scissoring his elegant fingers inside Jim, stretching him. He's so close, and he can just imagine what he must look right now, what Bones would say.

 _Goddamn, you're gonna come for me, aren't you, Jim?_ he hears Bones drawl. Fuck, it's almost like he's there, actually speaking to him. _Just like this, all over yourself? Go on, Jim, do it. Let me see you make a mess of yourself for me. Let me watch you._

"Shit, _Bones_!" Jim cries. One last tug at his cock and he's throwing his head back with the force of his release, everything blanking out around him. He's pulsing, coming hard, and for a few bright, fuzzy seconds, it feels like it could go on forever.

When the initial bliss passes and he finds himself back in the land of the living, Jim rubs his face muzzily into his pillow and peeks over at the PADD through half-lidded eyes.

It's one hell of a wake-up call to see Bones sitting there now with his cock out, jerking it with low grunts as he keeps staring intently at that damn monitor. Hazily, Jim puts two and two together.

"Oh, hell, he's watching _porn_?" he asks aloud.

"I sure am," Bones says.

Jim freezes in place.

"I...Bones?" he asks, gaping at the PADD in shock. "You can...you can _hear_ me?"

Bones looks up, directly at the overhead surveillance camera. It appears as though he's seeing right through all the lenses and screens and right into Jim's very eyes. Jim's heart starts to beat a mile a minute, heavy warmth pooling in his gut.

"You think no one in Security noticed that someone was hacking into their system to check up on the CMO? Or that they wouldn't be able to route it to a certain PADD on loan to a certain ailing captain over in sickbay?" Bones' eyes seem to gleam as he grins up at Jim, his palm rubbing teasingly over his cock now. "I may not have the same tech know-how as you, Jim, but a few people on this ship do owe me favors."

Jim fights the urge to groan. He knew that choosing the best of the best for his ship's crew would come back to bite him in the ass some day. He licks his dry lips, his eyes shifting to Bones' mouth now.

"So...you knew? All this time?"

"I knew," Bones confirms. "But don't worry; I like the idea of you watching me. Getting off to me getting off, listening to me talk about you. Didn't know you liked to watch."

"You learn something new every day," Jim says, trying for humor. Bones laughs lowly.

"When it comes to you, Jim? Absolutely. Speaking of, thanks for that dirty little performance just now. Was a real nice thank-you gift for all the free shows. Highly enjoyable."

Jim blinks rapidly, his cock hardening and balls tightening again at the tone of Bones' voice. _Fuck_ , he missed that voice. "Um, you're welcome?"

Bones smiles and tucks himself in, zipping up and standing. "May have to treat myself to a viewing again some time. But right now, I'd rather come down there and fuck you senseless. You still nice and slick and stretched for me?"

"Oh, god," Jim utters. "Yeah." He instinctively rocks his hips into the bed again and Bones laughs.

"Good. I'll be right over. And Jim?" Bones says, reaching out to turn off his monitor. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Jim hesitates only for a second before turning off the feed and shoving the PADD away. Then he clambers to his hands and knees, vibrating with eager anticipation until that fast-approaching moment when Bones comes calling. As fun as the whole voyeur thing has been, Jim has a distinct feeling that Bones is going to be _outstanding_ in person.

He mentally plots the text of a comm as he waits, to Lieutenant Rodriguez down in Security. It goes something like this: _Keep those feeds open at all times, or else._

Jim's pretty sure Bones won't mind a bit.


End file.
